C94: intermission: The Autumn Detective

—Underground, Holy Praelium Empire—

“What did you say?”

Inside the office chamber beneath Praelium City of the Holy Praelium Empire, a man in a deep red and black suit sat at his polished wooden table, the pen in his hand freezing mid-stroke. A rectangular glass frame rested neatly on the bridge of his nose, catching the low lamplight.

The room itself was austere, the stone walls etched with sigils of authority, shelves of meticulously ordered documents, and a heavy desk that bore the marks of long years of governance.

Standing across from him was another broad-shouldered man, with hair the color of deep red. His crimson cloak hung from his shoulders, deliberately unfastened to expose his chest, displaying a battle-scarred physique.

“Heraid of Easton City.”

The herald, Marcus, removed his golden helmet and placed it on the desk, the metal clatter echoing in the quiet room.

“I said I wish to advance to the next Stage prematurely, Lord Tesserarius.”

The Tesserarius frowned. He usually had an impassive face, yet now, the corners of his mouth pulled down, making a distinctly uncomfortable expression.

“That…”

“Surely, you do not expect me to walk into those bloodsucker domains alone, armed with merely my Foundation-stage arse, do you?” Marcus cut him off, his voice laced with impatient sarcasm.

“...”

The Tesserarius shifted his gaze to a stack of documents beside him, scanning rows of neatly written reports and stamped approvals. His fingers drummed once against the desk as he weighed the implications.

After a moment, he exhaled and gave a reluctant nodded.

“Very well, Herald. I will inform the Head Prefect of your request.”

He rose from his chair and exited through a side door, his footsteps echoing briefly down the corridor beyond.

“…”

Marcus remained standing, leaning his figure against the wall. His arms crossed, traces of impatience in his eyes.

After a short while, the Tesserarius returned with a neutral, businesslike expression.

“The Head Prefect has granted your request. Please, follow the established protocols.”

He retrieved a formal document and began writing, the pen scratching steadily across the page.

“Do you wish to partake in the advancement ritual to ensure full success,” he asked aloud, “or would you prefer to risk a quicker advancement, bypassing safeguards?”

Marcus straightened his cloak, smoothing the fabric across his shoulders before answering without hesitation.

“I don’t have time for a lengthy ritual. A quick advancement will suffice.”

The Tesserarius’s hand stopped mid-air as he glanced up at Marcus with a serious expression.

“You do understand, Herald, there will be a significant risk of losing control if you partake of the potion without fully condensing your essence, correct?”

Marcus smirked, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.

“What is the true purpose of being a Warrior, if I am to be so utterly terrified of such a paltry risk? If I fall, then we shall simply possess another Curse for our arsenal, shall we not?”

“...”

The Tesserarius glanced at Marcus from beneath his glass, studied him for a long moment before looking back down and scribbling furiously on the document.

“Very well.”

He signed his name in bold strokes and slid the document across the desk.

“Present this to the Signifer. He will know what to take.”

“All right, Lord Tesserarius.”

Marcus nodded, took the document, and turned to leave.

“…”

“A Silver-stage Warrior potion, Dictator.”

The Tesserarius murmured, his voice barely audible as Marcus departed.

—

—28 Rien Street, Easton City—-

“Meoww.”

“Calm down, little kitty, there, there, just a bit more,” a man’s voice rang gently.

He sat perched precariously on a sturdy branch of an old roadside tree, one boot hooked securely against the bark for balance. His arm outstretched toward a small, ginger kitten clinging to a much thinner, pointier branch above him.

The light filtered through the leaves, dappling his peach-colored suit and catching in his neatly combed peach hair.

Below him, a frail child stood on the sidewalk, clutching a peach-colored top hat to her chest.

“M-mister. *cough* p-please do take care.”

Her voice was small and shy, broken by a dry cough that made her shoulders tremble. She lifted her chin anyway, eyes wide with worry as she looked up at the man and the trembling kitten.

The cat hesitated, its one functionary eyes darting nervously. It glanced down at the child beneath the tree, then back at the man who was attempting its rescue.

The cat looked down, its tail twitching.

Refusing to be caught, it leapt into the air!

“!”

“!”

The man’s eyes widened, and at that same moment, he too sprang from the branch!

“Misterrr!”

*Catch!*

“Meowww!”

*Thudd!*

He had successfully caught the little kitten!

He slumped down onto the sidewalk heavily, but his arms closed instinctively around the kitten. Dust puffed up around him as he rolled once and came to a stop on his side.

The child hurried toward him, her steps uneven, breath coming in short, strained gasps.

“Cough, cough, mister!”

She pressed a hand to her chest, crouching halfway to steady herself, trying to regain her breath.

The man immediately stood up. He brushed off his immaculate peach-coloured suit and smoothed his neatly coiffed, peach-coloured hair.

“No need to fret, little Miss, the kitten is quite safe!” he said brightly.

On his arm, cradled gently, was a small ginger kitten. It had only one black eye, the other eye oddly vacant, its pupil missing. Unlike its mischievous previous behaviour, the kitten had now gone completely docile, nestled against his chest as if it belonged there.

“W-wow*cough, cough*. This kitty, I’ve never seen it this obedient before. *cough*”

The man with the peach hair, James Holmes, smiled with theatrical pride.

“What can I say! I am simply too gorgeous for my own good in a lady’s eyes!” He nudged the kitten lightly with a finger. “Including the feline variety, apparently.”

The child smiled, a weak, genuine expression. “Hehe, it indeed is, Mister Holmes. *cough cough.*”

The Autumn Detective immediately fell silent.

Silence stretched for half a second. He carefully placed the kitten into the child’s arms and reached out to pat her head.

“Little Miss, you are supposed to debunk my flamboyant claims, not wholeheartedly agree with them.”

The child tilted her head, her braided blonde hair swaying with the movement.

“But Mister, my Mother taught me that one must always agree to everything a gentleman says.”

“...”

“That way, *cough, cough,* we can save enough money to feed ourselves.”

“!”

The hand stroking her head stopped. He looked at the little girl with a complicated gaze.

“That—”

“Or,” the girl cut in innocently, “do you possess a degrading kink, sir?”

“PFF, COUGH, COUGH!”

Now it was James’ turn to choke. He staggered half a step and quickly put his hands on her shoulders.

“Where did you learn such a phrase!”

“Ehk, s-sir?”

“My, my apologies, ahem.” He immediately retracted his hand.

James crouched down to the girl’s eye level, forcing himself to compose his face.

“Now listen closely, Alice little princess, you are not supposed to—”

He spent a whole fifteen minutes diligently educating the little girl on the intricacies of polite conversation and the appropriate use of certain terminology.

After a while—

“I think, *cough* I think I understand now, Mister Holmes,” the little girl said. She sat on a nearby tree root, holding the small blanket draped around her and covering her mouth with it, muffling her coughs.

The little kitten also sat next to her, its one good eye fixed on the man, as if it too were actually listening to the lecture.

“Good!” James sighed in relief, running a hand through his peach hair.

The girl rummaged through her dress pocket. Soon enough, she pulled out some small coins.

“I, *cough* I only have these, mister. Will you accept them?” Only two coppies were present in her small, pale hand.

James shook his head. “There is no need, little Miss. Keep them. Use them to feed yourself nicely.”

The girl’s eyes immediately brightened.

She stood up and bowed deeply to James, holding the one-eyed cat in her arms.

“Thank you, Mister!”

She turned and slowly sauntered away down the street.

James waved his hand.

“Farewell, Miss Rindell.”

“Heehee, my mother’s teachings are true!”

“I heard that!”

James watched the girl disappear down the road, her laughter mingling with the soft city noise. He let out a long sigh, the sound tinged with a strange mix of amusement and exasperation.

“What’s wrong with kids these days.”

He pulled out his cane and began walking along the busy street, the polished tip clicking rhythmically against the cobblestones.

The noon sun hung warm above Easton City, casting long golden streaks across shop windows and carriage wheels. The scent of fresh bread drifted from a nearby bakery; horses trotted past, their hooves striking sparks against stone; newspaper boys shouted headlines with theatrical urgency.

“Mister Holmes, a good afternoon to you!”

“Detective, may fortune favour your endeavours!”

“Still short of funds, Mister Detective? I have a small commission, should you be interested—”

“Oh, Mister Detective! I seem to have misplaced my purse near the confectioner’s stall. Could you possibly lend your keen eye to its recovery?”

“...”

Wherever he went, people greeted him with bright smiles and hopeful eyes. Shopkeepers leaned out from their counters, children waved excitedly, and even stern old men tipped their hats in acknowledgment.

James Holmes responded with easy charm, tapping his cane lightly, bowing half a degree, or flashing a sincere smile.

As for the ladies—

As many passed by in pairs or small groups, with parasols angled delicately against the sun, they would suddenly shy away.

Their fans snapped open to conceal their flushed faces. Some would adjust their hats nervously and hurried past with embarrassed laughter.

A few glanced at him from the corner of their eyes before pretending not to notice him at all.

James merely offered them a polite nod, not daring to greet them directly.

After all, he did not wish to inadvertently compromise a lady’s reputation.

In Easton City, decorum was a currency more fragile than glass. If he accidentally greeted a married woman too warmly in public, tongues would wag by sunset and reputations would be shredded by morning.

The repercussions would be atrocious indeed! A gentleman must know his boundaries!

[“They do not wish to engage with you, James, not only because of your visage.”]

“Ah, Miss Watson,” James replied with dramatic patience, twirling his cane, ”no need to be so harsh. I am intimately acquainted with my own considerable charms. No, they are probably thinking—”

He spun, raising one arm dramatically toward the sky. A faint sparkle of golden light, like scattered stardust, flickered around him.

“—‘Oh my! It is the lovely, handsome, and famously brilliant Detective James Holmes! How could we possibly presume to engage in conversation with such an esteemed gentleman in our current disarray! I must return home and adorn myself in my finest silks and cosmetics forthwith!’”

As he talked to himself, he rolled his body with theatrical grace, danced a light-footed jig on the sidewalk.

[“Clap, clap. Quite right. Mister ‘Too Gorgeous in a Lady’s Eyes’.”] A small line of glowing words appeared out of thin air before James, hovering briefly.

He merely smiled at the floating words.

“Haha, Miss Watson. Are you feeling quite bored at present? It is most uncommon for you to engage in such purposeless conversation.”

[“…I hate you.”]

“Translation: ‘I hold you in the highest esteem and affection above all others in this wide world!’”

He continued walking, humming lightly to himself as he crossed the main road. Carriages rattled past; a fruit vendor argued loudly with a customer; somewhere a violin played off-key.

James slipped a hand into his pocket and sighed.

“Alas, still empty. My pocket remains tragically light. I ought not to indulge in so much charitable work.”

[“You can choose not to.”]

“It’s easier said than done, Miss Watson.” He adjusted his gloves thoughtfully. “How could I possibly turn a blind eye to those in dire straits? How could I possibly stoop to taking honest coin from the truly impoverished? I find myself utterly incapable of such a monstrous act, Miss Watson. I would rather die than commit such an indignity!”

[“I hate it.”]

“But no matter, for I have secured a commission, one with a most generous recompense!”

[“Annoying.”]

He took out his antique pocket watch, a gleaming silver orb, and flipped open its cover.

“It appears I am quite late for my appointment. I must needs hasten my pace!”

He snapped the watch shut and straightened his coat. With the cane tapped against the stone, he began striding briskly toward the White Church ward.

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.